


Beyond The End of the Stars

by Becky_J_1022



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Because come on, Canon Compliant, Hate to Love, M/M, also I have no idea what i'm doing so that'll be fun, and in a different order, basically this is my self-indulgent exploration of these two idiots falling in love, except it's an alternate timeline, just go with it, mostly - Freeform, set between Nesson-Eloy and Ravenel, there is no chance that there won't be smut later, things happen that didn't happen in the book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-08 06:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7747432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becky_J_1022/pseuds/Becky_J_1022
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recklessly, though he knew he was courting the whipping post, Damen forged on. "You trust no one. Even men who would help you, even men who would follow you, even men who would love you." He paused a moment, knowing his next words were his most dangerous yet. "You don't have to do it alone."</p><p>Laurent had finally straightened in his chair, his knuckles white where they clenched around his cup. "I have only ever been alone," he spat. His eyes bored into Damen, a challenge and a threat. "Ever since Damianos of Akielos met my brother on the field at Marlas and cut him down, I have been alone."</p><p>*****</p><p>Damen, still a slave, is falling in love with Laurent, and, against all of his instincts, Laurent is falling in love with him too. Unfortunately, they don't know how to deal with that at all. There's lots of staring and general pining.</p><p>This is my own recreation of the time on the road to Ravenel, because I will never be over the two of them trying to figure out who they are to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the tags, this is basically a forked timeline that happens while they're on the road to Ravenel. There's nothing that directly contradicts canon, but obviously things happen differently. As long as you go into this knowing that you'll be fine.
> 
> As always, thanks to Kelly for being the most amazing, encouraging, and helpful beta ever. And also for dragging me to hell by making me read these books. 
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments and constructive criticism, I live for it!

The weight of gold at Damen's neck did not weigh nearly as heavily on him as his thoughts weighed on his mind.

He was sitting on the edge of one of the campfires, turning his wrist idly and watching the light glint off the gold there. The sight of his slave cuffs still filled him with disgust and a dull, throbbing anger, but he caught himself entranced by the way the light played off them now, the smooth gold a bright contrast to his skin. 

He had just left the tent after another taxing few hours of tactic discussion with Laurent. Damen had been frustrated and dancing on a very dangerous line with Laurent by the time Laurent had dismissed him. Instead of retreating to his pallet, Damen had stood and, when Laurent made no move to stop him, thrown the entrance flap to the side and left, barely restraining the impatience in his step. 

Damen twisted his wrist again, the warm metal glowing slightly in the night, thinking back to their disastrous conversation.

"I will not take advice from a slave on how to command my men," Laurent had told him, his face expressionless as he had looked at Damen across the table. He had been draped casually in his seat, one leg drawn up onto the chair. His arm was braced on his raised knee, a goblet of water hanging from his fingertips. On anyone else, the pose would have suggested arrogance. A spoiled child playing at prince. 

On Laurent, it went straight past arrogance and into pure disdain. 

Damen had taken a deep breath in to stop himself from saying something that would have him back in chains. _Helping him is your best path back to Ios,_ he had reminded himself. _Get him safely to the border, and then he and the Regent can squabble their country into shreds if they want to._

After a few moments, during which Laurent's eyes never left his face, Damen had continued.

"Your men whisper behind your back. To them, you're almost not human. Cold, calculating, distant. How are they supposed to follow you if they don't even know you? You'll never have their loyalty this way." 

Laurent's blue eyes had been like chips of ice as he looked at Damen, but his voice had been cool and collected as always when he spoke. "You stray very close to danger. You would do well to remember your place. I accept your advice because of your knowledge of these lands, nothing more. I know how to command my men." 

"Then you are playing right into your uncle's plans! He knows you, he wants your men to feel no tie to you so that at the first sign of trouble, their allegiance will shift!" Damen had exclaimed, forgetting himself and slapping his hand down onto the table between them in anger. Damen saw a muscle clench in Laurent's jaw, but nothing else about his posture or expression changed. 

Silence had stretched between them like spun glass, fragile and sharp. Laurent made no move to dispel it, wielding it as he would a weapon. Damen cursed himself for forgetting that he was not in one of his war councils, free to speak as he would. He wondered briefly if he would find himself again on the flogging post.

The silence had lasted an uncomfortable amount of time, and Damen knew it would be unwise to be the one to break it. He looked back at Laurent, meeting his cold gaze. It took all of his will not to look down. Finally, Laurent had leaned forward, placing the goblet on the table. His eyes were still on Damen as he said, "We are done here. I do not need your services tonight. You are dismissed."

Laurent's gaze had lowered once more to the map stretched in front of him, and when Damen had stood to leave, Laurent had given no indication that he was even aware of Damen's presence. 

Now, sitting next to the dying embers of the fire as the night deepened, Damen knew he had touched a nerve. Laurent was not going to listen to his counsel. He rubbed his hand on his sore, tense neck, wondering why he even bothered. 

Sighing, and hoping Laurent was already asleep in their tent, Damen stood to go to bed. 

*****

The next night, Damen joined Jord at one of the campfires. Jord nodded to him as he sat, and a few other men greeted him lazily. Damen was still not accustomed to being treated as anything but a slave from Veretians, but it was nice to fall back into the casual company of men who had a common goal. 

Jord silently offered him some of the camp wine. Damen took it gratefully. The wine was just as terrible as it had been on day one. 

They both gazed at the fire, as the men around them exchanged profane stories and jokes. Damen drank his wine quickly, then accepted another cup from Jord.

"The Prince did not want your company tonight?" Jord asked, looking at Damen.

"I seem to have offered one too many opinions for his taste," Damen responded after taking a particularly large swig of wine, grimacing.

"Ah," said Jord sympathetically, though Damen caught a slight upturn at the corner of Jord's mouth when he said it. "His Highness ....does not always respond well to suggestions that imply he doesn't know precisely what he's doing."

"I've noticed, said Damen wryly. "His pride is too great to take advice that could help him, especially from a slave."

Jord was watching him thoughtfully. "He does not treat you as a slave," he finally said. "The Prince has always kept his own counsel, allowing no one close to his plans. But he spends every night, well into the morning, listening to you."

"Listening, but never actually following," Damen muttered. "He is too stubborn by half."

Jord was still watching him with interest, but he decided to let the subject lie. Content to sit in silence, they both gazed, mesmerized, at the flames. 

Damen had expected Laurent to still be angry with him from their conversation last night, but Laurent had treated him with the same cool, detached command he always assumed, riding tall and straight at the head of their company, a golden figurehead leading them on. He had spoken to Damen as if nothing had happened. 

Damen finished off his cup of wine, wondering if he would ever understand Laurent. 

Jord interrupted his thoughts with a gentle nudge to his shoulder and a nod across the fire. Following his stare, it took Damen a few moments to register what he was looking at. The golden hair and fair skin was especially lovely in the firelight, and blue eyes met his own as Laurent settled onto a stump that served as a seat. 

Laurent seemed impervious to the sudden cease in talking that his presence had inspired. His eyes stayed fixed on Damen. Damen didn't look away. 

As the silence became tangible, Laurent moved his gaze to take in the other men. "By all means, continue. I did not come here to sit in silence." 

No one knew quite how to break the awkward pause. Finally, clearing his throat, Jord spoke. 

"We were discussing new exercises we could use in our training, Your Highness. Care to weigh in?" 

Laurent's eyes sparked with amusement. "A group of men like this, tired after a long day's ride, and you're trying to tell me you were discussing work? Come, now. My delicate prince ears will not bleed at the sound of the word 'fuck'." 

A much more stunned silence, following this. Lazar was the one to break it this time, glancing hesitantly at Laurent as he continued a story he had been in the middle of telling about a brothel, a chicken, and an accidental display of public nudity. 

Slowly, the atmosphere of the fire returned to its previous quality, though no one forgot who was sitting with them. Laurent seemed content to listen, contributing nothing to the conversation, but Damen caught him smiling during some of the more ribald jokes. 

Damen found that he couldn't seem to look away from Laurent. His gaze was drawn to the way the light hollowed a long shadow under his cheekbone, the way the dancing flames softened his features and bleached the color from him, rendering him entirely in whites and golds. Even his absurd Veretian laces looked less stiff and more elegant. 

For just a moment, Damen could picture Laurent....softer. Not caught in a web of war and deceit. Not forced to lock every shred of emotion behind a tightly-held mask of steely indifference. Not constantly ripping people to shreds with his words, his only defense in a world looking to swallow him whole. It took very little effort for his imagination to replace this fire with another, lit in a hearth in a room swathed in silks. Laurent, relaxed in front of it, clothed in only a plain white shirt open at the throat, free from those wretched laces. Laurent, his face elegant and young, his hair impossibly golden, declaring more wealth than all the gaudy decorations of all the pets in Arles. Laurent, his face turning up to look at Damen, open and honest, his soft lips parting in a gentle smile...

A nudge to his ribs from Jord forced Damen out of his reverie, and, with a jolt, he realized Laurent's eyes were on him as well. If he hadn't had so much practice, Damen would have been unable to hold his level gaze. Flushing slightly, Damen wondered how long he had been staring at Laurent, and how long Laurent had been staring back. 

This was ridiculous. He'd had too much wine, that was all. He forced himself to remember that every scar on his back had been administered under Laurent's unwavering command. He dropped his eyes from Laurent's stare to look at the fire. Another memory arose, unbidden--Laurent pressing a knife into his hand, the shock as Laurent's fingers wrapped around his own, guiding the knife to Laurent's ribs. _I know exactly what it is to want to kill a man, and to wait,_ Laurent had said. 

Damen found he no longer knew what he wanted from Laurent. 

This was not a game he could play and win. He was still a slave in a rival country, no matter how boldly he spoke to Laurent, and he was under the command of the one person who would most like to kill him if he ever discovered who Damen truly was. There was no future for them that didn't end in bloodshed. And here he was, lost in daydreams because the Prince was fair and lovely. 

_Nikandros would have my throat if he knew,_ Damen thought to himself wryly. _Luckily, by the time he knows I'm alive, I'll be long gone from Laurent._

Jord cleared his throat quietly, then said, "I believe the Prince requires your company." Damen glanced at Jord to find him with an annoyingly knowing smile on his face, though we was clearly trying to repress it. 

Damen moved his glance over to Laurent, who had stood up and was waiting for him with raised eyebrows. The fire had gone quiet again, but not with the same discomfort that had signaled Laurent's arrival. Damen could already see new respect in the eyes of some of the men. 

Sighing to himself, Damen arose to accompany Laurent back to the tent. Tomorrow night, he was only having one cup of wine. 

*****

Back at the tent, Laurent gestured for Damen to take a seat. He sat across from him in his usual chair, draping across it like he had last night. He watched Damen across the table, not speaking. Damen tried to gauge any emotion from his face, but as usual, there was nothing but impassive elegance. 

Damen spoke first. "What made you change your mind?"

Laurent regarded him with a long, searching look. Instead of answering Damen, he poured a cup of wine and set in front of Damen, then poured a cup of water for himself. Damen looked down at the wine, then back up a Laurent.

"I think I've had enough wine," he said, forcing himself not to flush at the memory of his fireside thoughts. 

Laurent's expression was amused. "Is that why you were staring at me the entire time?" he asked, without heat. 

"I....I was merely surprised to see you there," said Damen, less successful at keeping emotion out of his voice. "You made your intentions to ignore my advice clear last night." Contrary to his previous statement, he took another sip of wine to have something to do with his hands. 

"Would you like to gloat? Would you like to tell me that your plan worked exactly as you intended it? Maybe next time I'll throw in a story about how you fucked me. That is what soldiers talk about, is it not?" Laurent took a sip of water, then let the cup dangle from his long fingers as he watched Damen's response. 

"I didn't...that isn't...you know very well that isn't what I meant," Damen said, cursing his inability to hide his reaction to Laurent's vulgarity. "It just helps them to see you there. Already talk will be spreading about it. The more they know you, the more they will be loyal to you."

Laurent looked at him, his gaze appraising. "Is that how you feel? Do you feel loyal? I had your back flayed open. I had you kneeling in chains at my feet. I would say that you have come to know me quite well. Tell me, is my personality one that inspires loyalty?" 

Damen felt as if he had been dropped in a pit of snakes. He tread very carefully, for fear of making a misstep and being bitten. Slowly, choosing his words carefully, he said, "I have come to know you. You care for no one. You do nothing that isn't a means to accomplish your ends. Every step is calculated, cruel, precise." He paused. Laurent's jaw was tense. 

Damen continued. "You also bargained for the other slaves of Akielos, ensuring they were sent to Patras to be well taken care of. You care for Nicaise, and he cares for you. You treat your men well. In Nesson-Eloy, you gave us away for the fun of the chase." Another pause. Quieter: "You loved your brother."

Laurent hissed in a sharp intake of breath, as if Damen had slapped him. "That's enough," he said, and Damen was surprised to see a slight hint of color high on Laurent's cheeks. "You....don't speak of my brother again."

Damen knew he was on very dangerous ground, but he steeled himself and continued. His voice was low and gentle. "Your men say how frigid you are. You give them no reason to think differently. But I have seen otherwise. I have seen you laughing. I have seen that you care for this country. The only reason you appear cold and distant is because that's how you want to appear. It's just another piece in your game." 

Laurent's chest was rising and falling rapidly, and though his posture had not changed, Damen could see the rigid set to his body, as if Laurent was forcing every muscle to stay completely still. "I said, that's _enough._ " 

This was the most reaction Damen had ever gotten out of Laurent, and he wanted more. He wanted to get behind those walls and see why they had been built in the first place. 

Recklessly, though he knew he was courting the whipping post, Damen forged on. "You trust no one. Even men who would help you, even men who would follow you, even men who would love you." He paused a moment, knowing his next words were his most dangerous yet. "You don't have to do it alone."

Laurent had finally straightened in his chair, his knuckles white where they clenched around his cup. "I have only ever been alone," he spat. His eyes bored into Damen, a challenge and a threat. "Ever since Damianos of Akielos met my brother on the field at Marlas and cut him down, I have been alone." Damen's blood ran cold at those words. "Every time I have trusted, it has been used against me. You have seen it yourself. I am surrounded by deceit and betrayal. Why would I be so stupid as to make the same mistake again?"

Damen craved to know who he had ever trusted, what had happened that had betrayed that trust so. But he knew that he had pushed Laurent too far tonight. He would not ask. Not now. 

In a very quiet voice, Damen asked, "Then why did you trust me? Why did you take my advice tonight?" Damen forced himself to meet Laurent's gaze when he said it. It was incredibly difficult to do so--Laurent may as well have been wielding knives instead of glances. 

The moment stretched on painfully. Laurent took the time to calm his breath, to pull himself back from the emotion he had revealed. Finally, just as quietly, he said, "I don't know. I don't understand you." 

In a night filled with surprises, this was the most shocking thing Damen had yet encountered. Laurent had acknowledged that he trusted Damen, at least a little bit, and also that he didn't know why. Damen was overtaken with a sudden urge to tell Laurent who he was, to have no more untruths between them. But to do so would be suicidal. Damen had killed the last person Laurent had ever trusted. 

An unknown emotion was rising in Damen, uncomfortable and guilty, mixed confusingly with glee. _Laurent trusted him._ But Laurent trusted a lie. Damen was sickened by the thought of Laurent discovering that he had, once again, put his trust in someone who would betray him, who had already betrayed him, who was, in fact, his greatest enemy. 

While Damen had struggled to find something to say to him, Laurent had risen, placing the cup of water on the table. He was once again contained, controlled, distant. 

"That is all for tonight. I will need no further services from you." 

Without glancing back at Damen, Laurent strode from the tent. Damen stayed awake for a long time, staring at the entrance to the tent, but he never heard Laurent come to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, my self-control is horrible and I couldn't wait to update. I probably won't update every two days, but I couldn't help myself this time. This chapter is fairly short, but it contains arguably my favorite moment. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, thanks to Kelly for her fantastic advice and for being my everything.

Damen thought that Laurent would retreat, foregoing the campfire to prove a point to Damen. But to his surprise, Laurent was there the next night. And the next. For the next four days, Laurent spent the evening among his men, and it became clear that the men were enjoying it. Though Laurent rarely spoke, it was enough to have him there, to see him laugh quietly at a joke. It bonded them, as Damen knew it would.

On the fourth night, Lazar grew bold.

"So, Your Highness, you know all of our stories, but we know none of yours. This one," here Lazar jerked his head in Damen's direction, "won't tell us anything good."

Damen flushed, waiting for Laurent to tear Lazar--and himself-- apart. Instead, Laurent's eyes were mischievous over the fire.

"Stories? Are you asking me to tell you about all the fucks I've had? Or are you perhaps curious to hear whether I've had any at all?"

Lazar backtracked a bit, trying to save face in front of his Prince. He chose to drag Damen into it to do so. "It's just....this one is such a big brute. Must be quite something to have him as a bed slave. Must feel like being fucked by two men." Damen closed his eyes in horror, unwilling to see Laurent's face at the moment.

When he opened them, Laurent was still looking lazily at Lazar. Half the company was holding its breath, wondering if Lazar had gone too far. Everyone knew it was a nasty thing to get on the wrong side of the Prince.

Laurent smiled. "How do you know it isn't the other way around?" he said, his voice full of playful amusement.

The company fell apart. Lazar choked on his wine, having been in the middle of a swig when Laurent had spoken. Most of the other men had fallen into uncontrollable laughter--it was unclear whether it was from the thought of Laurent fucking Damen, or simply the unexpectedness of the answer from their Prince. Jord had a small smile on his face, and glanced to his side at Damen.

Damen was grateful both for his dark skin and the cover of night, as both masked his flush of embarrassment. He drank his wine down in two large gulps, using it as a cover while he regained his composure. When he brought the cup down, Laurent was looking at him over the fire, a wicked smile on his face. Damen glared.

The fireside relaxed after that, and Laurent had them all crying from laughter with a story about a time that he paid a blonde stableboy to dress up in his clothes and ride into the forest, causing half the palace to chase after him, thinking the boy the Prince. When one of the men asked why he had gone to all the trouble, Laurent had raised his eyebrow as if the answer was obvious, then simply replied, "I didn't feel like having lessons that day."

By the end of the night, it was clear that, to the men, Laurent had stepped down from his pedestal and become one of them. Damen still didn't appreciate his method, but he couldn't argue that it hadn't been effective. A few of the men clasped the Prince's shoulder as they walked by to their beds. Laurent's small smile stayed effortlessly in place, but Damen thought he was the only one who noticed how Laurent's body tensed when he was touched. Damen frowned to himself.

When Laurent rose, Damen found himself unconsciously rising with him.

*****

To his surprise, Laurent did not return to the tent.

Damen followed him as he wound through the camp, passing its edge and climbing a small rise on the other side. When he got to the top, Damen found Laurent leaning against the inside of an old, crumbling archway, one of the ruins that scattered these hills. Away from the camp, the only light came from the stars scattered overhead and a low sliver moon cresting the horizon. Laurent's attention was fixed on the sky, his head tilted back, the long column of his throat outlined against the dark. 

Without looking at him, Laurent said, "You don't have to follow me everywhere, you know."

Reaching his side, Damen leaned against the other side of the archway, looking out over the landscape. "Sure I do," he said pleasantly. "Every time I leave you alone, you find trouble in one way or another."

Damen saw a smile play at the edges of Laurent's lips. It was a smile he recognized from Nesson-Eloy, a playful and strangely innocent side of Laurent. Damen found himself smiling too, and realized with a sharp jolt of joy that he liked causing that smile.

"I seem to find trouble wherever I am, with or without you," Laurent said back. "In fact, my trouble seems to have increased since your arrival."

Damen couldn't help the low laugh that escaped him. "That's not my fault. I'm not the one sending armies and mercenaries after you."

The mood shifted slightly, and Laurent turned to give him a long, searching look. "No," he said quietly, his brow furrowing slightly as if in confusion. "You're not." His gaze returned to the sky.

Damen's eyes roved over Laurent's face. Instead of the whites and golds that firelight cast him in, moonlight and starlight rendered him completely in silver, sharp and lively as the edge of a sword. His fairness caused something to catch in Damen's chest.

Unable to look away, his fingers remembered the softness of Laurent's hair as he brushed it to the side to undo the laces at his neck. He remembered from the baths how perfectly proportioned Laurent's body was under his forbidding clothes. He remembered the sound of a whisper in his ear, the glint of a sapphire earring, the feel of Laurent's hand on his thigh. If only Laurent was anyone else....if only _Damen_ were anyone else....

"Did you come here just to stare at me? " Laurent asked without looking at Damen, jolting him out of his thoughts. "That seems to be a common pastime of yours as of late. Or are you trying to think of how best to yell at me for my pronouncement at the campfire?" The hint of that smile was back.

Damen shook his head, feigning exasperation. "The rumors will never stop, you know, now that you've encouraged them."

"Yes, but I did give them something to think about, didn't I?" Laurent said. "Or are you just upset that you're thinking about it too?"

Try as he might, Damen still could never quite predict what Laurent was going to say. The frustrating part was that Laurent, as usual, was right--Damen _had_ been thinking about it. Casting about for a change of subject, he said, "So, you like the stars?"

Laurent stilled next to him. Damen looked at him, trying to figure out how he had managed to upset him with so innocent a subject. Laurent's eyes didn't move from the sky, and Damen watched as a muscle twitched in his jaw. It looked like Laurent was trying to decide whether or not to speak.

Just when Damen had resigned himself to tense silence, Laurent began to talk.

"When I was younger, I used to have nightmares. I would wake in my rooms, and I always had a hard time going back to sleep. I had this terrace attached to my room, and I would go out there just to feel the cool air on my face." He paused, looking at Damen. Damen held his breath, unwilling to do anything to shatter this moment of stark openness, such a rare thing with Laurent.

Laurent watched him as he continued. "Auguste's rooms were attached to the terrace as well."

Damen forced his pulse to behave at the mention of Auguste's name. He forced his face to remain smooth under Laurent's scrutiny. "You don't have to...." he said, his voice rather rougher than usual, but Laurent interrupted him.

"Auguste figured out what was happening after a while. He found me one night on the terrace, after a particularly bad nightmare. He stood next to me and began pointing out constellations, naming them. It calmed me. It became our ritual. I asked him once what would happened when he became King. If he would leave me behind, forgotten. He told me, 'Never. Not until the end of the stars.' It became a phrase we used with each other. A stolen moment for brothers."

Damen's chest was tight, his breaths painful. His thoughts were a tangle of warring emotions. Guilt over killing Auguste. Wonder at getting a peek into the child that Laurent had been. Bitter regret at Laurent's lost childhood, which he himself had ended when he ensured Auguste never came home from Marlas.

Laurent was watching him. Damen struggled to keep his face impassive. He said nothing.

After a moment, Laurent continued, his tone quiet and purposeful. "Before Auguste left for the battle at Marlas, he came to see me. I was angry. I didn't want him to go. Even at thirteen, I understood what could happen. I could never have imagined I would lose both him and my father that day." Laurent's eyes were still on Damen's face, but his expression was distant, his eyes seeing something other than the man standing in front of him, his mind living a different day. 

Damen didn't want him to continue. He didn't want to hear this. He felt like he was invading a private moment, a place he was very much not welcome. He wished he could walk away. He wished he could go back and stop himself from unwittingly inviting this story. He wished he could go back to thinking about kissing Laurent under the stars.

"I yelled. I cried. I threw a tantrum with all the questionable dignity a thirteen year old could muster. Finally, Auguste put his hand on my shoulder and told me, 'Laurent. I promise I'll be back. Remember? You and I, until the end of the stars.'" Laurent swallowed. Damen felt sick.

Laurent slowly returned to the present. Damen looked straight into his eyes, the color absent in this light. "I made a promise too, after. A promise to Damianos."

Damen's hand twitched at his name, and he hoped Laurent didn't notice it. He pulled all of his will into keeping himself still. He did not look away. He owed Laurent that, at least. He would not be such a coward as to turn away from this, though he longed to. This was his penance for the wrong he had not truly known he had inflicted until this very moment.

Laurent turned his body to face him fully, half his face in shadow, the other half lit in stark silver light. He stood very close to Damen, but instead of wanting to reach out for Laurent, Damen had to repress a flinch from his proximity. How strange that a moment could change so much.

"I promised Damianos that, one day, I would find him. That it would be just me and him, beyond the end of the stars."

Damen felt something snap in his chest, a ragged hole blown open by Laurent's words. He wanted to gasp for breath, to clutch as his skin as if to keep himself whole and together, but he could do nothing while Laurent watched. He let the story sink into him like a sword, raising no defense against it.

Laurent pinned him with his gaze for a moment, and then he turned and left, returning to camp.

Damen did not follow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to tell you that there's no pain in this chapter, but that would be a lie. You said that you liked drama, so welcome to the Most Dramatic Chapter Ever. I hope you like it!
> 
> As always, thanks to Kelly for talking to me until 3am and yelling at me in all caps about things.
> 
> Second thank you to Mari for thinking of the name "Pain Trio." It's entirely accurate. I love it.

Damen endured a markedly exaggerated number of remarks the next day about his and Laurent's private preferences, increasingly vulgar as the day wore on. It had not escaped notice that Damen had not refuted the Prince last night, and it had also not escaped notice that Damen and Laurent had left the fire together, in the opposite direction of their tent. The taunts were endless.

"There is something to be said about fucking outside. Getting back to nature, as it is."

"Is it true, then? Is he the one that gets a leg up over you? Now that's an image..."

"So he likes it romantic, huh? Fucking underneath the stars? Wouldn't have thought him the type."

Though he had refuted each and every comment calmly and without emotion, as he always did when it was suggested that he was fucking Laurent, the last snapped his patience.

He rounded on the man, using his full, considerable height to his advantage. In his anger, his response came out in Akielon."Do not think you know either me or the Prince. And what business is it of yours what we do? We aren't fucking, but if we were, I would challenge you to a duel here and now for your loose tongue. He deserves your loyalty and respect. He is a better man that us both. Now get back to work, soldier, and next time you want to say anything about the Prince that isn't glowing admiration, I suggest you check very carefully to make sure I'm not around to hear it."

Though the poor man had no indication of what Damen had actually said to him, the tone was clear. He departed, wide-eyed, nearly tripping over a saddle in his haste to put distance between him and Damen.

Damen stood there for a moment, gathering himself until his breaths were even and controlled once more. He was grateful no one here spoke Akielon. He had been withstanding comments such as these for months, ever since he had come to be a bed slave for Laurent. They had never bothered him. And yet suddenly here he was, raging at a poor young man of maybe nineteen, who had made probably the least offensive comment of them all, simply for using the word _stars_.

He let out one last deep breath, bringing his hands up to rub his temples. He had to get himself together. It was understandable, the thoughts he had been having the last few weeks. After all, he spent nearly every moment with Laurent, and anyone would be taken in by his beauty. Add wine and firelight--what chance did he have? But when they reached the border, Damen would depart, returning to take back his throne in Ios, and Laurent would resume his role as an enemy. There was no place in their narrative for sentiment.

Turning around to finish saddling his horse, Damen stopped short and stared into the bright blue gaze of the only other person in the camp besides himself who understood Akielon.

Laurent's steady gaze held Damen to the spot. His expression was as unreadable as always, but Damen had the distinct impression of being seen straight through to his core. Laurent stood easily, a hand resting on the flank of his horse beside him. Nothing in him betrayed that he had overheard anything.

Clearing his throat, Damen spoke. "Your Highness. We'll be ready to ride out when you give the order."

Still staring at him, Laurent said nothing for a moment. Finally, he turned to mount his horse gracefully and effortlessly, gathering the reins in his hands. "Good. We ride out now."

Damen turned to relay the order to Jord, who then shouted the order to the rest of the men. The company, quick and efficient after these weeks together, rode out as one. Damen mounted his own horse and took his place to the right of Laurent, wondering if Laurent had heard anything, praying that he hadn't.

He didn't have to wait long to find out.

After half an hour of riding in silence, Laurent's horse was startled by a snake in the grass at its feet. Rearing high, the horse would have tossed a mediocre rider. But Laurent, gathering the reins steadily in his hands, leaned forward and balanced himself in the saddle before guiding the horse back to the ground. Murmuring slowly in the horse's ear, Laurent stroked it's neck slowly, until the horse was calm, it's flaring nostrils the only remaining sign of its fright. Damen stared.

Looking up, Laurent caught Damen's look. "What? Did you think I had not been trained to properly handle a frightened horse?"

"Of course you were," Damen responded. "I just never thought I'd see you handle anything with such a gentle touch."

Laurent looked at him, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I am capable of kindness, barbarian." A touch of a smile curved his lips as he glanced at Damen. A tendril of dread threaded up through Damen's chest. "In fact, word around camp is that I'm a better man than even you."

Damen closed his eyes, recognizing his own foolish words from earlier. Before he could form a response, Laurent continued.

"While I appreciate you defending my honor, I assure you that doing so in Akielon is not the most effective deliverance. Usually threats are more effective in a language the person you're threatening actually speaks. Though it did, I'll admit, add something to the performance. That poor young man, at least, won't be making any comments about the two of us again. Probably."

"You can't just say 'thank you,' can you?" Damen growled, annoyance and embarrassment fighting each other for dominance within him.

Laurent was silent for a moment. Then, softer, "That depends. Did you mean it?"

Damen looked at Laurent, who, for once, was not looking back at him. He was holding himself tall and straight in the saddle, the sun gilding his hair in a golden halo. He was looking casually ahead, though his air of disinterest was given away by the glance he threw at Damen. A month ago, Damen wouldn't have been able to read Laurent's expression at all. But now, he found that he could easily tell that Laurent was waiting for a response, and that he cared about what that response would be.

Damen met his glance with a long one of his own, and then turned to squint into the sun. Quietly but firmly, he said, "Yes. I meant every word."

Damen could feel Laurent looking at him, but did not turn to see his expression, unreasonably afraid that his admission would be met with indifference or hostility. The moment stretched long between them, strung like silk across the air.

When Laurent spoke, Damen was unprepared for his words. "Thank you," Laurent said, the words uncharacteristically genuine and nearly too quiet to hear.

Surprised, Damen turned to Laurent, but Laurent had nudged his heels into his horse's side, spurring him ahead a few lengths, too far forward for Damen to see his face. Laurent was joined a few minutes later by another rider, a messenger. Damen watched as he scanned the message, then nodded sharply to the messenger. The rider wheeled his mount and rode back the way he came.

Laurent did not return to his side.

*****

It was clear that night around the fire that word had spread of Damen's violent outburst. As Damen sat down next to Jord, accepting a cup of wine, he saw that Jord was grinning at him.

"Is it true you threatened to cut a poor soldier's balls off and feed them to him before leaving him in the stream to rot?" he asked, trying to contain his mirth.

"Wha...no, of course not!" Damen exclaimed. "Where did you hear that?"

"Word is you yelled in Akielon for ten minutes after he suggested you fucked the Prince in the woods. The soldiers only had your tone to go off, and their imaginations are not lacking."

"It was only two minutes," Damen grumbled, looking into the fire. "And I didn't threaten him. Much."

Jord laughed low and appreciatively. He let his laughter trail into a comfortable silence. Then: "You never let those comments get to you. What happened?"

Damen reached up to rub a sore spot on his shoulder, then let it fall to his side with a sigh. "I...there are some things that should be left private. I'm not talking about fucking--I don't care about that. I just....the Prince is more than he seems. He deserves more than that."

Jord was quiet for a long moment. Damen looked across the fire to where Laurent sat, oblivious to their quiet conversation. He couldn't forget the way Laurent had looked at the stars, open and wondering, or the gentleness with which he had calmed the horse. He even found himself thinking, over and over, about the sound of his name on Laurent's lips: _Damianos_. How Damen wished he could hear him say it, just once, without hatred or anger, knowing it belonged to the man who stood in front of him. _Damianos_. He closed his eyes, thinking of all the ways he would like to hear his name from Laurent's mouth. _Damianos_. A sigh, a whisper, a promise.

Next to him, Jord sighed, dragging him out of his thoughts.

"Listen, Damen. I'm only going to say this once, and then I'm going to let it be. I see the way you look at him." Damen opened his mouth to argue, but Jord put his hand up, stopping him. "No. Let me get it out. You need to hear it.

"The Prince is a good man, and I would have him rule this country. I will do whatever it takes to win him his throne. Now, against my better instincts, I like you. You are also a good man. Honest. Hard-working. Kind. But you are Akielon. You are a slave. If all we are working for succeeds, and we get Laurent on the throne, there is no place for you beside him. You cannot tell me that you would be content to be a bed slave to him for the rest of your days. We both know that one day, you will return to Akielos.

"I see the way he looks at you, too. I have no say in what the two of you decide to do in your own time, and heavens knows I would like to see the Prince smile again. But remember who you are. Remember who he is. I'm trying to spare you both harm--do not forget that one day we will reach the border, and you will both have to make a decision of where your loyalty lies."

Damen gazed at the fire, his stomach a knot of ice. Jord laid his hand gently on Damen's shoulder, then got up and left him to his thoughts.

_Remember who you are._

He was Damianos, prince-killer, rightful heir to the throne of Akielos.

He was a slave, a prisoner to a rival prince, his greatest enemy.

And, impossibly, he was falling in love with Laurent of Vere.

*****

That night, at their usual table, Laurent and Damen discussed tactics. Candles burned low as the night approached its deepest hour. Finally, Laurent got up from the table.

"You look exhausted," he told Damen. "Am I finally wearing you out?"

Damen gave him a tired smile. "Please. The day I'm worn out by you will be a sad day indeed. The men would never let me forget it. You're half my size."

Damen was rewarded with a small smile from Laurent. Then: "Good. If you're not tired, then I'll need your assistance. Come, attend me."

Damen sat, frozen, for a moment. His desire to be close to Laurent warred with his good sense, and with Jord's earlier words. He was no longer tired. His body thrummed with nervous energy. He swallowed, hard, forcing himself to remember how catastrophically things had ended for him the last time he had lingered too close to Laurent's body.

Laurent watched him, an eyebrow raised. "Well? Are my scary Veretian clothes intimidating you? I can see why you would be frightened. Barbarians as large as yourself often lack the dexterity to handle things delicately. But I do ask that you try not to simply use brute force. This is my best jacket. I'm rather fond of it."

Slowly, Damen rose from his chair. He approached Laurent carefully, somehow feeling like he was the prey and Laurent was the predator, no matter how much larger he was, no matter that it had been a long time since he truly thought Laurent would hurt him again. Laurent turned, exposing the laces that began at the nape of his neck. Damen closed his eyes for a moment, calming his breath. Even though he was mostly sure it wouldn't happen, he was not particularly interested in giving Laurent any reason to have him on the cross again.

"If I didn't know how you came to be a slave, I would return you to Kastor as faulty. You must be the slowest slave to ever come out of Akielos. I grow old where I stand, waiting for you," Laurent said, turning his head slightly to glance over his shoulder, his tone light and teasing.

"You talk more when you're nervous," Damen murmured. He brought his fingers up to the top lace, feeling clumsy and warm. Laurent's hair prevented him from undoing the lace, so he brushed it to the side, the very tips of his fingers grazing Laurent's skin. He swore he felt a tiny shiver run through Laurent.

He was standing very close. If he took one step, his body would be flush with Laurent's. He was sure that his heartbeat was pounding through the space between them hard enough for Laurent to feel it. Though he tried to still his breaths, he could see Laurent's hair shift with each exhale. He was in very dangerous territory.

He didn't know if it was his lust-addled preoccupation, his exhaustion, or just pure stupidity that made him say what he said next.

"I'm sorry I made you talk about your brother. Last night. I didn't...I thought it an innocent question. I would never..."

He felt Laurent turn to stone beneath his fingers. Damen could feel the hot memory of a whip on his back.

Then, miraculously, he felt Laurent force himself to relax again, muscle by muscle. Damen did not move. His fingers stayed very still on the laces. He thought that if he disturbed the moment even a little, it would come crashing down into disaster.

Very quietly, so quietly that Damen wouldn't have heard him clearly if he hadn't been standing so close, Laurent said, "I know you didn't. You....Why do you make it so damn easy to forgive you?"

Damen's fingers tangled in the lace he was undoing. He cursed whoever had decided to make Veretian clothing so damn complicated. It took him a moment to gather the words and force ease into them.

"Do you want to hate me?" He asked. His voice was a rumble in Laurent's ear, quiet and low. He longed to brush his lips along the pale skin beneath Laurent's jaw. He thought he saw Laurent's eyes flutter closed, though he couldn't tell from this angle.

"Don't _you_ want to hate _me_?" Laurent asked, his voice still quiet but surprisingly full of feeling. "I enslaved you. Hurt you. Humiliated you. The gold collar around your neck tells everyone who sees you that you belong to me. I know you hate it. I know you long to be free. You should hate me for that."

He was right. Damen yearned to still have the capacity to hate Laurent. He detested the weight around his neck that declared him worthless, nothing but a plaything for a prince. His skin craved the warm sun of Akielos, the salty air of the cliffs of Ios, the sweet shade of his mother's gardens. He wanted to blame Laurent for that. For so long, in the beginning, he had. He had loathed him.

And that had been so much easier than this.

"You are not the one who betrayed me and chained me. You did not tear me from my home, from my family." He paused, gathering himself for what he was about to say, unable to believe he was about to say it.

"If I had to belong to somebody, I'm glad that it was you."

Laurent's breath caught in his throat. Damen simultaneously wished he could see Laurent's face and was glad he couldn't. Damen was nearly done with the laces on the back of Laurent's jacket, which was taking much longer than it should, but Laurent didn't seem to care. Silence gathered around them, as heavy as the gold he wore.

Damen finished with the laces. He slid his hands slowly underneath, every touch feeling illicit and electrifying, drawing the jacket off. He laid in on the chair next to him.

Laurent turned to him, looking younger and gentler in his simple white shirt. They were still close, close enough that Damen could count his eyelashes. It would be so easy to reach out. So easy to slide his hand around Laurent's neck, to pull him close and kiss him. He longed to feel Laurent soften beneath him, to relax into a long, slow embrace.

Damen's eyes caught on a loose strand of golden hair that had fallen forward to lay against Laurent's cheek. Unthinkingly, he reached out and gently moved it back, tucking it behind Laurent's ear. His fingers lingered on the skin of Laurent's jaw.

As if coming out of a daze, Laurent jerked back, out of Damen's reach. Damen's hand fell back to his side.

Laurent spoke, his eyes on Damen's. "Tell me something."

"Anything."

Laurent took his time with the words, each placed with painful intent. "Did you ever meet Damianos of Akielos?"

Damen nearly stumbled. Only pure shock kept him still. He fought to control himself, to push down his panic, to contain his breath. Laurent could not have paralyzed him more efficiently if he had slid a knife between his ribs. He could not look away from Laurent's gaze.

"Yes." His voice came out strange.

"Tell me. What was he like?"

Damen knew he was dancing on a thin blade, knew he could accidentally reveal himself at any moment with the wrong word.

"He was..." Damen grasped for the right thing to tell Laurent. Casting around his mind, he settled on a truth he had been hiding, a truth he had not yet admitted to himself. "He was a fool."

Surprise widened Laurent's blue eyes. "What did you say?"

Damen swallowed. "He knew nothing of the world but his own sheltered corner. He was so arrogant, so sure of his title, that he was blind to any threat. It is no surprise that Kastor was able to usurp him. He was naive, too naive to ever mistrust his family. He did nothing but dance and fight and fuck." Damen couldn't keep the bitterness out of his tone. "A proud prince on a crumbling throne."

Something had shattered inside Damen. Suddenly, now that he had begun to tell the truth, he could not bear to tell another lie. He could not bear to stand here and spend one more minute earning false trust from the man in front of him. He would take the consequences as they came, but Laurent deserved to know who he was.

He wanted to face Laurent, for the first time ever, as himself.

"Laurent, I have to tell you something," Damen said, not thinking through his words. At the sound of his name, Laurent stepped back, and Damen realized that he had never called him that to his face.

"We're using first names, now, are we?" Laurent said. "That's presumptuous, from a slave."

Damen closed his eyes briefly, then pressed on. "I'm sorry, but this is important. I have to tell you...."

"Don't," Laurent interrupted.

"But--"

"Since we seem to have progressed to easy familiarity, I would like to call you by your given name, too." A pause. "Damianos."

Damen's vision narrowed, black spots forming at the edges. He felt his face contort with shock and pain. He could not look away from the calm, blue eyes that held him captive.

"Did you think I would not know? Did you think that I had you beaten to within an inch of your life simply for your indiscretion in the baths? I have thought of you every single day since I was thirteen. You have been my obsession. I have thought about every possible way that our paths would meet. I never dreamed you would be hand-delivered to my feet, bound and chained."

There was a strange ringing in Damen's ears. His chest was tight. He couldn't get enough air in his lungs. His head felt fuzzy, as if he had drank too much the night before. He stumbled back a step, fighting to stay on his feet.

"I trained in the sword ring every day, hours past when my lesson was done. I learned Akielon fighting tactics, and learned counterattacks to them. I learned the language, the politics, the land. All for the day I would finally face you."

Damen felt like he had been hit over the head, or like he had been drugged. The room spun slightly, Laurent the only clear thing in his vision.

"So here we stand. No more lies between us. Do you wish for that knife, now?"

Damen took another step back, braced himself on the back of the chair. He couldn't think. He couldn't....

"I made you a promise, Damianos. I promised it in another life. I spent every moment preparing for the the one where I stood, finally facing you as the brother of the man you killed. And here we are, beyond the end of the stars."

It was too much. Damen broke away from Laurent's unwavering stare. Unseeing, unthinking, he lurched to the entrance of the tent, threw back the flap, and disappeared out into the night.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to formally apologize to Damen because I am not being kind to him right now. I swear that I will give him some happiness later on.
> 
> I'd also like to apologize for the cliff-hanger at the end of this chapter....the next part would have made it too long. I'm not actually sorry. I'm sorry I'm not actually sorry. 
> 
> Thanks to Kelly, my lovely beta and friend....I will thank every star every night for your existence. You all should go read her fic Along For The Ride because it is pure joy in written format.
> 
> Another thank you to Mari for totally wrecking me with her fic, I have literally never been in so much pain in my whole life and I love it. It's called Étude and you all should go read it because it's wonderful and heartbreaking.

Damen's feet carried him away from Laurent, seemingly under their own command. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew that he couldn't stay in that tent, under the flame of those too-bright eyes. He had wanted Laurent to know the truth, but he had never been prepared to learn that Laurent had known since the beginning. Snippets and flashes of memories came back to him, too quick for him to make any sense of them.

_Laurent, his face white as he looked upon Damen for the first time._

_'Why do you give me good advice?'_

_Laurent, pressed against him on a balcony, laughing into his chest, free and joyous in the night air._

_'I intend to survive, I intend to beat my uncle, and I will fight with every weapon that I have.'_

_Laurent, offering him a sweemeat, Damen chained and bound at his feet._

_'It's the game I like.'_

Damen shook his head as if he could dislodge the thoughts and images, as if he could leave them strewn behind him, forgotten on the ground. But, as his feet carried him out of camp and into a wooded grove, they kept coming, breaking against him like waves on the shore. Branches hit his face, scratching his skin and snapping painfully against his limbs. He barely even noticed. The pain in his chest drowned everything else out. 

_Laurent, staring straight at Damen as a whip fell over and over again, splitting his skin, spilling his blood._

_'Damianos of Akielos was commanding troops at seventeen. At nineteen, he rode onto the field, cut a path through our finest men, and took my brother's life.'_

_Laurent, looking up at the stars, his youth and beauty raw and open in the night._

_'You remind me of him. He was the best man I have ever known. You deserve to know that, as you deserve at least a fair... I was angry. Angry, that isn’t the word.'_

_Laurent, lit in the gold of the firelight, laughing with the men he would one day rule, looking over to meet Damen's eyes through the flames, holding his gaze while time froze around them._

_'To get what you want, you have to know exactly how much you are willing to give up.'_

The conversations and memories came at random, out of order, flashing one after another through Damen's mind. A tangled mess of things Laurent had said and done flashed through him, teasing words and hateful moments, vicious phrases and tenuous trust. How they had hated each other, in the beginning. How they had trusted each other, at the end. How could Laurent hold such contradiction inside himself? And, more importantly....which was the true Laurent?

Damen came to a halting stop, leaning his back against the trunk of a tree. He didn't know how far he had come or how much time had passed. His breathing was ragged, as if he had been running, though he had no memory of doing so. He slid down the trunk of the tree, sitting at its base, reaching up to run both hands through his hair.

Out of the confusion and shock of Damen's mind, every interaction, every conversation he had ever had with Laurent was rearranging itself around one single, battering thought: Laurent had known. Laurent had known who Damen was from the very beginning.

Had anything been real? Or was this all part of Laurent's twisted game, a grand design that he had spun around Damen, a trap that Damen had fallen into easily and willingly? Was this his revenge? To lure Damen in, to taunt him with whispers and touches and growing closeness, so that Damen would break when it was stolen from him? He thought of Laurent stepping in against his uncle to save Damen's life. He thought of the sound of Laurent's laughter, unable to contain himself even on the brink of being captured in Nesson-Eloy. He thought of how close he had come to kissing Laurent before the truth had torn a gaping hole in his entire world. 

Damen knew his unthinking inclination to trust had lost him his throne. He knew it was naive to the point of stupidity to think that Laurent would have begun to have true feelings for him, the man Laurent had sworn revenge on, the man who had killed his brother and best friend. He knew that if he returned to Laurent, he was courting death.

Damen, entirely alone here in the night, knew it was foolish to hope. He knew that it was dangerous beyond reason to go back. And yet, as his thoughts grew clearer and his mind quieter, he found that he wished, above all else, that it had not all been a lie. He wished for a path forward for him and Laurent that ended, not in bloodshed, but in trust and forgiveness.

If he was being truly honest with himself, he wanted more than that. He wanted Laurent to look at him and to _know_ him. He wanted to find out what was hidden beneath those walls, those masks, that biting tongue. He wanted to know what it felt like when Laurent let his defenses go, to be the one who Laurent opened himself up to. He wanted to to see what Laurent looked like when he was completely and totally undone.

Steeling himself in the dark, Damen made a decision. He would find his way back to Laurent, once he had calmed himself. And when he did, he would face whatever consequences were waiting for him. But if there was any part of the last month that had been true, he would grasp it. He would fight for it. He would not let it slip through his fingers. He had lost too much recently. He refused to let go of the only thing he had left. 

Damen rose to his feet, closing his eyes as he felt his decision settling into his bones, gathering himself to turn back towards the camp, towards Laurent.

If he hadn't been so distracted, Damen would have been alert to the presence of someone else in the trees. If he hadn't been so consumed by Laurent's revelation and the aftershocks of it, Damen would have heard the snap of the twig behind him. If his strength hadn't been sapped by shock and exertion, it would have been nearly impossible for a mere two men to sneak up on him and subdue him. In any other moment, Damianos of Akielos would have never been captured in the woods outside the camp.

But as it was, by the time Damen realized what was happening, his hands were already bound behind him, and a hood was already over his head, blinding him.

The last thing Damen knew was a sharp blow to his head, and then there was only darkness.

*****

When Damen came to, he was aware at first only of his pounding head. He allowed himself a small moment of self-pity--he was having a colossally bad night. A small throb of anger at being detained from returning to finish things with Laurent pulsed through him. Pushing that aside, he began to assess his situation.

He was lying on his side, the hood still on his head, his hands still bound behind him. The fabric over his head let in the suggestion of light, so it was either daytime or he was in a lit room somewhere. He could hear movement, but it was not in the room with him...a tent then, maybe, with people moving outside of it. He took an assessment of his body. Beside his pounding head and his sore shoulders where they strained against the bonds, he seemed to have sustained no other injuries in the capture.

He tested the bonds on his hands, and found them too well tied to escape without something to aid him. He scolded himself for being so caught up in his mind that he had allowed himself to be taken unawares. Damianos, prince-killer, rightful king of Akielos, subdued because he had been daydreaming about Laurent of Vere. Jokaste would love to see him now, bound and helpless once more, his attraction to blond hair and blue eyes again leading him to disaster.

A sound of people drawing back a tent flap made him stop cursing himself and his stupidity. Footsteps drew next to him--two people, he thought from the sound. He felt hands on either side of him, pulling him awkwardly to his knees. Another set of footsteps walked past to stand in front of him.

"Take off the hood. Let me see the face of the man who was trying to sneak up on us in the woods."

At the sound of that commanding voice, Damen went completely still. The strangeness of this night was never going to end.

As the hood was drawn roughly over his head, he blinked at the sudden brightness of the well-lit tent, then looked up into the face of his old friend, Nikandros.

He saw the exact moment that Nikandros recognized him. His face rearranged itself, passing from an expression of hard control to one of shocked disbelief, the color draining from his skin. He took a step back, and Damen would have laughed at how off-balance he was at Damen's appearance if it hadn't been such a serious situation.

"Hello, Nikandros. Nice to see that you still offer a warm welcome to your friends."

Nikandros stared at him. "I...you....this isn't possible. You're dead."

"I do have quite the headache, but other than that, I can assure you that I feel very much alive at the moment."

Nikandros was silent for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing without words, emotions flitting over his face quicker than Damen could follow. Then sense seemed to rush back into him.

"Don't just stand there, release him! Don't you see that this is your king?" Nikandros ordered to his men. Fumbling over the bonds, they cut them, and Damen pulled his arms in front of him, rubbing his wrists. Nikandros dropped helplessly to his knees in front of Damen. The look of shock had been replaced by a look of wonder.

"Damianos. I cannot believe my own eyes. I never thought to see you again, my friend." He bowed his head, and, taking one of Damen's hands in his own, kissed it. "My king."

Then his entire body stiffened, though he did not move from his bowed position over Damen's hand. Damen, confused, followed his gaze and found his gold slave cuff glinting in the light of the tent. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Nikandros--"

"Damen. What....who has done this to you?" Outrage glittered in his eyes. "We must remove these at once. Before anyone else sees them."

"No."

Nikandros raised his gaze to Damen's at the sharp word. His eyes searched Damen's face, trying to understand what was happening. Disbelief was slowly flooding into his expression.

"You want your people to see you as a slave? As a ... There is not a soul in Akielos who doesn't know what these mean. The gold gives a very good indication of what you have been doing these past months, Damianos. Tell me, in whose bed did you serve?"

Heat flooded Damen's skin. "I served in no man's bed, Nikandros. Do not assume you know anything of what has happened to me these past months. The collar stays. The cuffs stay." He said it as a king. He held Nikandros' gaze as the other man fought a war within himself between speaking his mind and obeying his king. Finally, Nikandros dropped his eyes.

Sighing, Damen let go of the rush of anger that had overcome him. "Nikandros, come, let us at least revel in the joy of our reunion for a little while before returning to hard subjects."

Getting to his feet, Damen offered a gold-cuffed hand to Nikandros. Nikandros stared at him from his knees, and then Damen saw his expression slowly soften, a grudging smile gracing his lips, before he grasped Damen's forearm and allowed himself to be raised to his feet by his friend, his prince, his king.

*****

Nikandros ordered food and wine brought to the tent, which Damen was immensely grateful for. He was surprised to find that he was famished. His night had been long and arduous, and he remembered with grim amusement that he had thought himself exhausted even before everything had fallen apart.

Nikandros could see that Damen was barely keeping himself standing. "I'm having a tent prepared for you now. Most of what we must discuss can wait until the morning. But I must ask--I must know. What happened, Damianos? Why did Kastor not kill you?"

Damen had asked himself the same question, but he felt like, slowly, the grand picture was beginning to form before him. Months of learning the art of manipulation and deception at Laurent's side had given him insight he had never considered before. "You tried to warn me, Nikandros. I should have listened. I was a fool. I trusted blindly, sure of my power, sure of Kastor's loyalty. I'm sorry."

Nikandros sighed. "I wanted to be wrong. The morning I woke to the news...I have never wanted to be wrong more than in that moment. I mourned you. Kastor will never be my king. He never was."

Damen grasped Nikandros' shoulder gently, overwhelmed with the loyalty Nikandros had kept for him even when he had thought Damen dead. Then he began his story. He told Nikandros how he had been overtaken in his rooms, his slaves killed in front of him. How he had been brought down to the slave baths, stripped and humiliated and chained. How Jokaste had come to taunt him with her betrayal. How he had been drugged and shipped to Vere to be a slave.

"I was so confused about why I wasn't dead. I waited for the killing blow. But I think now that, though he risked everything by keeping me alive, Kastor sent me to the one place that he knew I would most suffer. I couldn't tell anyone who I was, for they would kill me immediately if they knew I was Damianos. And he knew that nothing would cause me pain like serving at the feet of my most hated enemies."

Nikandros had listened to the story with stony silence, his knuckles white where they clenched the table. Damen watched as he tried to control his anger. "Who were you given to? What..." He took a moment to gather himself before continuing, clearly hating the words he was about to say. "What did they do to you?"

Damen shook his head. He didn't have it in him to tell Nikandros the things that had happened in Arles, not tonight. And he couldn't bring himself to tell Nikandros that he had been the private slave of the Prince of Vere. His heart was still too raw, and he couldn't bear to see the horror in Nik's eyes. It would take far too long to explain that Laurent was not who he appeared, and Damen wanted nothing but to collapse into bed and escape his clamoring thoughts.

"Tomorrow, Nikandros. We will discuss it all tomorrow. I will tell you all that has befallen me, and you can tell me what you are doing so far North. I am dead on my feet. It has been...a very strange evening."

Nikandros pushed out his breath in amusement at that, clearly in agreement. He had surely not expected to find his thought-to-be dead prince hiding in the woods outside his camp. But for Damen, this night had been so much more.

"Damianos--I am truly glad to see you. I..." he broke off. Damen nodded to show that he understood the words Nikandros was struggling to find. His heart, too, was full at the sight of his friend. Nikandros cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Come. I'll show you to your tent, and you can sleep undisturbed. We will untangle the rest tomorrow."

Collapsing into silks, stealing a moment before his weariness carried him into dreamless sleep, Damen turned his thoughts back to Laurent. He needed to return to him, though Nikandros' presence complicated things a great deal. If only he could see Laurent, could speak to him, he could find a way to make things right.

_Tonight I sleep for the first time again as Damianos_ , he thought, _and tomorrow I will find a way to face Laurent, finally as my true self._

He closed his eyes and sleep washed over him, heavy and obliterating.

*****

The next morning, Damen awoke as a king.

He turned in his silk to look to Laurent's bed, only to experience a moment of dizzy confusion as he realized that he was not in Laurent's tent, but in an Akielon camp. Damen had always thought he would feel more joy at returning to his people and his country, but instead he strangely felt a sense of loss. He would not sit around a campfire with Jord and Lazar and the others again. He would not spend late nights discussing ways to unseat the Regent. Unbeknownst to him, he had enjoyed the last few weeks with the Veretian men. He knew his place and his duty, but he mourned the loss of easy companionship that he must give up.

Sitting up, Damen sighed. He had a long morning ahead of him. He needed to put Laurent and his men behind him, for now. It would take all his energy to keep Nikandros in check when he discovered whose ownership Damen had been under. It would be even harder to convince Nikandros that Laurent was not an enemy. _Being a king is already taxing,_ Damen thought to himself before rising to ready himself for the morning.

Word had spread through the camp since Damen's arrival last night, and soldiers fell to their knees around him as he exited his tent to find Nikandros. Damen took in a deep breath. Not so long ago, he wouldn't have even paused at this attention. It was no different than how royalty was always greeted, no different that how people had acted around his father. But now, his own knees remembered how it felt to kneel.

He was saved from his thoughts by the arrival of Nikandros, who grasped his elbow and guided him through camp. "I had a meeting tent prepared for you. We plan on staying here for a few days, and you'll need a place to speak privately with your commanders. I'm afraid you'll have to entertain at least one night as well. These soldiers all thought you were dead. They need to see you."

Damen had expected it. He could not simply walk into the camp and rely on word-of-mouth. Regaining his throne in Ios did not just involve military strength. It also required working to regain the loyalty of the Akielons, who would be guilty of treason if Damen was not successful. Damen was facing months of hard work.

They approached a large golden tent, extravagantly draped in silks. Damen realized with a jolt that he found himself assuming it had to be for Laurent, not him. He shook his head. He had to stop thinking like a slave. It was time for him to be a king, even if his gold cuffs and collar said otherwise.

Damen was trying to figure out how he was going to explain Laurent to Nikandros. He owed Nikandros the truth, all of it, but he also needed to find a way to convince Nikandros to let him return to Laurent, and he was fairly sure he knew how his old friend was going to react. It was not going to be a fun morning.

Nikandros pulled back the entrance flap to the enormous tent, allowing Damen to duck into it. Nikandros entered just behind him. Damen's eyes traveled over the room within, taking in the six sturdy poles that held up the tent, the large table that dominated the center, the sides that could be drawn up when it was time to entertain large crowds. It took him a moment to see that Nikandros had erected a dais at one end of the tent, and upon the dais rose a throne.

Damen stopped dead, Nikandros doing the same beside him.

It wasn't the dais nor the throne that shocked him. No, what froze Damen in his place was the figure who sat upon it, his blue eyes sparking with familiar cold amusement and disdain.

A golden prince on a stolen throne.

*****

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not even want to tell you guys how much fun I had writing this chapter, because it is full of pain and you will yell at me. Damen continues to have a bad day, and Nikandros is So. Done. Laurent out-assholes himself. 
> 
> Thanks to Kelly and Mari for being the best betas ever and for continuing to drag me to hell and drown me in pain. I love you both so much.

Laurent was sprawled across the throne with all the insult and contempt that he was capable of, which, of course, was considerable. One of his legs was draped over the arm of it, his boot tapping insolently against the side. He smiled as he looked at Damen. The smile was not pleasant.

Damen knew that there should be some semblance of normal reactions in his head, that he should be angry, or insulted, or nervous. He should be worried that Laurent and Nikandros were in the same room; that one or both of them might be in danger from the other. He should be wondering how Laurent had bargained or slithered or tricked his way into an enemy camp, right into the king's own command tent.

And yet, with grudging fondness, Damen's only coherent thought was, _Of course Laurent would find a way to sit on my own throne before I even knew it was here._

He didn't let himself examine the bright flood of joy that had pooled in his chest at the sight of Laurent. He forced himself to remember that their last interaction had been far from ideal, and reminded himself that there was no chance that the next few minutes weren't going to be extremely uncomfortable, at best.

Laurent spoke into the hard silence. "You know, I'd heard of Akielon hospitality, but I must say, I'm disappointed. I've been here for at least half an hour and no one has even offered me a drink."

Damen chanced a glance at Nikandros. He had to, absurdly, force himself not to laugh; Nikandros was apparently so angry he couldn't speak, his jaw clenched, his face red. He looked like he had been punched. Which, to be fair, he might as well have been. Laurent had that effect on people.

He closed his eyes briefly, preparing himself for the disaster that was about to occur, and which he had no power to stop. Looking back to Laurent, whose eyes had never left him, Damen spoke. "Nikandros, it would seem that I have no choice but to introduce you. This is Laurent, the Prince of Vere."

Damen looked over to Nikandros, whose expression was changing as he watched. He saw him glance at Damen's slave cuffs, then back at Laurent, who was smirking faintly back at him, challenge glittering in his eyes. Damen could almost hear Nikandros piecing things together, guessing the truth. He took in the golden hair, the fair skin, the blue eyes. Then Nikandros turned to look at Damen, his face warring between exasperation and disgust.

"You didn't. Tell me you didn't."

"I--"

Laurent interrupted before Damen could even begin to form his explanation.

"Oh, did he not tell you, Nikandros? And here I thought you two were close friends. Didn't you wonder who Kastor sent Damianos to? You surely didn't think he would be sent to some lowly aristocrat." His eyes turned back to Damen, holding his gaze. "No. Nothing but royalty for the rightful King of Akielos, Damianos Prince-Killer. Why not send him to the brother of the prince who died to give him that name? It has a certain...circularity to it, don't you think?"

All trace of amusement at Laurent's audacity was struck down with those bitter words. Damen wanted to walk up to Laurent, to get it all out in the open. He wanted to push until Laurent opened up to him, to find out whether there was any hope of forgiveness. He wanted to break through the sarcasm and the insults to what must lie underneath. But he couldn't. Not with Nikandros here.

Laurent pulled his leg off the arm of the throne and leaned forward, his head tilted in mock thoughtfulness.

"Shall I tell you what your prince is like in bed, Nikandros? He is not nearly so composed, I can assure you." He paused. "Would you like to know what it takes to make him beg?"

Damen caught Nikandros roughly around the arm as he started angrily towards Laurent, holding him back. He kept his eyes trained on Laurent.

"That's enough, Laurent," he said quietly but firmly. Under the surface, his heart was beating bruises into his ribs. "This is between you and me. Leave Nikandros out of it."

"Oh, that reminds me," Laurent said, turning his attention to Nikandros. "I hope that you don't mind that I rescheduled our meeting. Under the circumstances, this just worked better for me. I do apologize for the inconvenience."

Damen's grip on Nikandros loosened as he tried to process what Laurent was saying. No, he must have misheard. There was no reality in which Nikandros, Kyros of Delpha, and Laurent, Prince of Vere, were allies. Then Damen remembered back to the morning after he had found Laurent under the stars, to a messenger riding up to Laurent, to Laurent's brief nod before the messenger departed. He could feel the shock on his own face.

Laurent had been watching Damen's reaction to this news. "Oh, I do truly love being the only one in the room who knows the full picture," he said, smiling smugly from his perch.

"If you think that our alliance will stand after such insult--" Nikandros began, fury contorting his voice.

"I think you'll find that our alliance _will_ stand." Laurent rose from the throne, graceful and dangerous. He descended down the dais, coming to stand mere feet in front of Damen, his cold regard holding them both where they were. "I think, Nikandros, that you'll find that your prince--your _king_ \--will ask you to stand by my side. Am I right, Damianos?"

Damen stood looking back at Laurent, and wanted to say no. He wanted to tell Laurent that he had his own battle to fight, his own throne to win. He wanted to care nothing for Laurent and his plight against his uncle, for Vere and the men who fought for it. He opened his mouth to tell Laurent that he could find other allies to throw precisely-aimed insults at.

What he said instead was, "Nikandros, I need to speak to Laurent." His voice had a new note of command in it, one that could not be disobeyed. "Alone."

*****

Nikandros had been loathe to leave Damen and Laurent alone. He had flat refused at first, his glance straying to the slave cuffs. His implication had been clear.

"Don't worry, his honor is safe with me," Laurent had drawled. "At least, what's left of it."

"Laurent." Damen had warned, putting his fingers to his temple, rubbing a spot that was beginning to throb. It was too early for this. "Nikandros, leave us. That's an order. I was in his company for months. I think I can manage one conversation."

Laurent smiled at Nikandros, looking positively menacing. Nikandros glared back before turning to Damen. "A snake who has laid inert in the grass may choose to strike whenever he likes. You would do well to remember that, even if he does have....certain features that seem to incapacitate you beyond all reason."

With one last poisonous look at Laurent, Nikandros strode from the tent, leaving Damen alone with Laurent.

Laurent looked at Damen, saying nothing. His expression was unreadable, any emotion perfectly locked down beneath the iron gates of his will. So many thoughts ran through Damen's head, so many things he wanted to say.

"I'm sorry I left."

Laurent laughed without humor. "Did you think I didn't expect it? From the first moment in Arles, you've been looking for your out. You were always going to leave. "

"I was going to come back." Damen's voice was soft. "I just needed some time to think, but...I was always going to come back."

Laurent's jaw twitched, the only movement in his face. "And why would you think I wanted you to come back?"

Damen searched Laurent's face. He stepped, carefully, one pace forward, closing the gap between them, and felt a trickle of satisfaction as he saw a flicker of emotion on Laurent's face before he closed it off again. Damen's eyes moved down from Laurent's eyes to his mouth.

"For the same reason I wanted to come back," Damen said, his voice low.

"You presume much, if you think that I would ever harbor feelings for my brother's killer," Laurent said coldly, but his eyes had strayed to Damen's mouth too.

"Do I? So all of the advice I gave you to help you beat your uncle, all of our hours together, the thin tendrils of trust we built...you'll stand there and tell me that it was all a lie?" Damen tried not to show how much he cared about the answer. "It was truth to me," he said after a moment.

"Truth," Laurent said with venom, and Damen saw that his face was even paler than normal, his body tense and rigid. "Tell me the truth, then, Damen. When I had you chained on your knees in front of my court, did you care for me then? Or was it after the whip? Or maybe you have been lying to yourself for so long that you don't know what truth is anymore."

Damen shook his head. "Stop it. That won't work on me. I know you, Laurent. You can try to hurt me all you want, but I'm not leaving."

Laurent was no longer hiding his emotions. His breathing was shallow, and Damen saw that one of his hands was clenched into a fist at his side. "You _killed my brother_. What do you think will happen, I will forget that and we'll fight side by side and then perhaps we can fuck later?" Laurent's face was all sharp angles, aimed to wound. "I was glad when I heard that your own brother had taken everything from you. I wanted to see your face when you realized that you had lost it all. Because that's what you did to me, when you killed him. You took _everything_ from me."

Damen let that wash over him. He let it hurt, all the more because Laurent was hurting too. Then he reminded himself that this was what Laurent did; he threw out whatever would be the most painful to the person he was talking to, a distraction so he could avoid admitting anything that could be used as weakness.

"Do you think I was thinking of a thirteen year old boy when I went to meet your brother that day?" Damen said, pushing back. "It was war, and he was my enemy. It was that simple."

Laurent stared at him, looking like he had been struck. Then, abruptly, he turned from Damen and strode to the table, leaning on both hands, steadying himself. Without looking back, he said, "Simple. My brother's death was simple to you."

"Laurent, that's not--" Damen began.

"No." The word was a weapon, burying itself into Damen's chest. "Please, tell me how simple it was when you cut him down. How was it done? What simple maneuver did you use?" Laurent still had his back to Damen. "Was it simple when the sword slid into his body? When his breath started to come in sharp gasps?" Laurent flung himself around, facing Damen. Pain was etched in the ice of his gaze. Damen felt something shatter in him at the sight.

"Tell me, Damen. When you looked at him as the life fled his eyes, did you think to yourself, 'Well, at least it was _simple_ '?"

Damen took a helpless step forward, searching for words, needing to bridge the distance that spread between them like a gaping wound. He needed Laurent to understand, he needed to find the words that would heal this. But he couldn't. There were no words that would fix this. He took another step forward, opening his mouth to say something, anything.

"Don't. Don't come near me. Don't tell me you care for me." Laurent's chest was heaving.

Damen looked at him. He held Laurent's gaze purposefully for a moment before saying, quietly, "I do care for you, Laurent. I can't change what happened in Marlas. I can't give Auguste back to you, no matter how much I wish I could. But I can change what happens next. Ask me to, and I give you my word that I will be by your side when you face your uncle."

Laurent looked back at him, and for once, his face was raw with emotion. Damen waited.

When they came, the words were shaky and forced. "Get out." Laurent turned back to brace himself on the table, his head bowed.

Damen didn't point out that it was his tent, and Laurent couldn't order him to leave--couldn't order him to do anything, anymore. He was no longer a slave. He didn't tell Laurent that the collar and cuffs were merely decoration now. It didn't matter.

The words had pierced every fiber of Damen's being. He had told Laurent that he wouldn't leave, but he had pushed too far. If he didn't go now, he might never be able to salvage whatever they had left. Damen swore to himself that he would do whatever it took to find his way back to Laurent.

He stood for a moment, fighting every urge that told him to go to Laurent, to turn him around, to cup his face in both hands and stay until the walls broke down. Then, forcing himself to move against the bitter pain that had flooded the very air of the tent, he turned and he left. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Chapter of Redemption, also known as "Becky has a thing for sexually-charged competition and can't control herself." Try not to judge too harshly. I promised you all that I would stop absolutely torturing Damen, and this is the beginning of making things right. I swear he's got a lot to look forward to now.
> 
> Thanks to Mari and Kelly, my amazing betas. Mari, you continue to murder me and I continue to be eternally grateful for it. Kelly, thank you for staying up with me until ridiculous hours of the morning, shouting at me in all caps and stopping me from devolving into full blown smut. You both give me life. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to you all for reading this and commenting...it makes my day so much brighter every time! <3

Nikandros found him sitting on an outcropping of rock out of view of the spread of camp. Damen didn't look at him, just continued to look out over the land and the unbroken blue of the sky. Nikandros paused, standing behind him, then sighed and picked his way over the rocks to sit next to him.

For a little while, they sat together in silence, the company enough in itself. Then, Nikandros spoke. "Laurent's men have joined us in camp. It was uncomfortable, but everything seems to have settled well enough. For Veretians, they seem to be good men." He waited for Damen to respond.

When Damen said nothing, Nikandros tried again. "You're probably wondering how we came to be in alliance. Laurent sent a message to me months ago, asking for aid. He has proof..." Nikandros paused. "Damen, he says he has proof that Kastor and the Regent allied to kill your father and put Kastor on the throne. That's what Laurent offered in return."

Damen closed his eyes. Normally, the information would have been enough to pull the air from his lungs. Now, after his conversation with Laurent, it was just another blow in a day that felt like a battle he never had a chance of winning. Would it never end?

"What happened in there, Damen?" Nikandros said quietly. "I just told you that your brother killed your father before he stole your throne and sold you into slavery. You didn't even flinch. What could Laurent possibly have said to you that would be worse than that?"

Damen opened his eyes. He watched as a flock of birds took flight from a tree, experiencing everything as if from a great distance, as if from outside his own body. "Did you know that Auguste was Laurent's best friend as well as his brother?" He finally said. "After I killed him, Laurent had no one else. For a while he must have turned to his uncle, but clearly that was false. At thirteen, Laurent was alone. I did that."

"It was war, Damen. Auguste was their commander. We all know the risk. We put on our armor and ride in anyways."

"It wasn't Laurent's war. He didn't have a choice. He lost his entire family that day, Nik. My brother has done...unforgivable things, but I still--it would still hurt to lose him. Can you imagine what Laurent felt, when he found out?"

Nikandros was quiet for a moment. Then: "Yes. I know how he must have felt. I thought I lost a brother, too." Damen turned to him, his brow furrowed. Nikandros looked sadly back at him. "I thought I lost you."

Damen was left speechless. The feeling flooding his chest was becoming familiar to him, an ache that settled in deep and sunk its claws in, refusing to let itself be lessened or removed. It was too much to feel, after everything. He clasped Nikandros' shoulder.

Nikandros let the moment exist, untouched, and then he said, "What are you going to do about Laurent?"

Damen rubbed his face with both hands, wishing he had an answer to that question. "I don't know," he told Nikandros helplessly. "How am I supposed to fix this? I can't change what happened. I can't make it better."

Nikandros looked at Damen, clearly trying to disguise his dislike of Laurent in face of Damen's distress. "Damen, I know you don't want to hear this, but maybe it's not something that should be fixed."

"No," Damen replied, his voice cracking slightly. "Listen, Nik, I know what you must think, but he...I..." The words tangled on Damen's tongue. How was he supposed to describe what the last few months had been like? "We never fucked. It...he wasn't kind in the beginning, I'll admit that, but he didn't...use me." The words were difficult to get out.

Nikandros looked like he wanted to be sick, but he remained silent as Damen continued. "He wanted to kill me, for a while. He almost did. I realize now that he wanted to kill me because he knew who I was. But....things changed, Nik. He slowly came to trust me. I don't think that was false. Somehow, even knowing who I am..." Damen trailed off, thinking of starlight confessions, of rooftop chases, of blue eyes filled with sharp amusement...and something more.

"In the end, I was a slave only in name. He hasn't laid a hand on me since Arles. We talk for hours. He's smart, in an annoyingly twisted Veretian way. Smarter than anyone I know. And I know it's hard to see, but he is kind, in a very...quiet way." Damen paused. "He...there's a reason he is the way he is. There has to be. There's something underneath all that acid and ice, Nik. I don't know what. But I want to find out."

Nikandros heard Damen out without comment, watching him closely. Silent for a few moments after Damen finished, he seemed to find whatever he was searching for in Damen's face, and sighed. "Damn it, Damen. Couldn't you have chosen anyone else but the Prince of Vere to fall in love with?"

"I'm not--"

"Please don't lie to me. I grew up with you. I know you, Damianos. Apparently better than you do yourself." He looked at Damen, considering him. "You really didn't fuck him?"

"I'm fairly sure I would have noticed if I had, Nik."

"But you're going to, aren't you?" Nikandros' voice was resigned.

Damen barked out a laugh. "He _hates_ me. I think if I get within ten feet of him right now, I'm twice as likely to lose a limb than to find my way into his bed."

Nikandros raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't a no."

Damen looked at Nikandros, who groaned when he saw Damen's expression. Damen laughed again, his mood lightening a bit. He would find a way to talk to Laurent, hopefully coming out intact on the other side of the encounter. He had told Laurent he wouldn't leave. He didn't plan on it. He wasn't giving up that easily.

Rising to his feet, Damen clapped Nikandros on the shoulder. "Thanks for the talk, Nikandros. It helped." Nikandros just shook his head, looking out over the hills in front of them.

As Damen turned to make his way back to camp, he could have sworn that he heard Nikandros mutter under his breath, "Why did he have to be fucking blond?"

*****

Damen entered camp with a vague idea about tracking down Laurent, though in reality he had no idea where to search. The camp was huge, needing to accommodate all of Nikandros' army. Surely by now Laurent was no longer where Damen had left him, shaking and angry, braced against the table in the command tent. Damen had no idea where Laurent's men had been placed within the camp. He could be anywhere.

Damen was considering the best way to find him when he heard shouts and cheers to his left. Following the sound, Damen found himself on the outside of a large circle of men. Using his full height to observe the center, he saw that he had stumbled on an impromptu sparring session. He didn't know the men in the middle, but they were fairly well-matched, swords flashing in the sun. Damen watched as, slowly, the slightly taller man with copper hair gained the upper-hand on his opponent, a slight but strong man with dark hair.

Damen saw the moment coming right before it did, a quick flick of the copper man's wrist that caught the other man's sword and sent it flying out of his hand. Yielding, the dark-haired man braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

The match had Damen itching to pick up a sword. It had been a long time since he had sparred, even longer since he had sparred with someone who could give him a challenge. Sliding through the crowd, Damen stepped to the center of the ring.

"That was excellent swordwork. You should both be proud. Akielos is lucky to have you," Damen said. The copper-headed man nodded in thanks before realizing who was speaking to him. Both men dropped hastily to their knees, bowing. "My apologies, Exalted. I did not immediately recognize you," said the copper-headed man.

Damen gestured for them to rise, vaguely uncomfortable with the formal title. "An easy mistake to make, considering I recently returned from the dead," Damen joked. There was a ripple of laughter through the men around him, easing the atmosphere a bit. "What are your names?"

He learned that the dark-haired man's name was Kael, and the copper-headed man was Aleksander. They both fought under Makedon, Nikandros' most powerful general. They were both proud, Kael said, to serve the true King of Akielos, Damianos, not the false king-killer on the throne. Damen's heart twisted painfully. Pushing that away, he turned to address the men around him.

"I would be honored if there was a man here who would spar with me. It has been a long time since I have tested myself against an Akielon fighter," Damen said to the crowd at large. He waited, but there were no volunteers. He couldn't tell if it was because his swordsmanship was well known as the best in Akielos or because no one wanted to fight their king. Either way, Damen thought with disappointment, he would not get his match today.

"I will fight you." The clear, familiar voice cut through the air, and Damen had to control his heart as it tried to beat its way out of his chest. "Though I'm not Akielon. I hope you won't be too disappointed."

Damen's eyes scanned the crowd, and finally found the golden-haired figure that was cutting a path through the men. The blue eyes were focused on him, and Damen searched them for any sign of their disastrous conversation in the tent. He was unsurprised to find no hint of emotion on Laurent's face.

As Laurent approached him, Damen felt the atmosphere of the circle change. The Prince of Vere, here to spar with the prince-killer King who had cut down his brother. There was a charged air of excitement hanging over the gathering.

Damen felt as though electricity was coursing over his skin. In as casual voice as he could manage, he said, "It would be my pleasure." He let a pause accentuate his next words. "If you think you can keep up."

The glitter in Laurent's eyes was both playful and deadly. Damen wondered if he was stepping into the biggest mistake of his life, giving Laurent a sharp weapon so soon after Damen had pushed him to the edge of his control. If Damen hadn't seen Laurent fight before, he would have scoffed at the challenge. As it was, he made a note to keep his attention on Laurent's mind as well as his sword. He would have his hands full.

He could see that the men watching them had sized up Laurent and found him wanting. He couldn't stop himself from grinning. He remembered his own shock when he had seen Laurent's proficiency. They wouldn't be looking at him like that for long.

Laurent was handed a sword from Kael, and he found its balance, shifting it in his grip. He looked back at Damen, one fair eyebrow arched. Speaking low enough that only Damen could hear, he said, "I never thought you'd be smiling when I finally faced you with a blade, Damianos."

"I'm imaging the look on these men's faces when they watch you match me, step for step. They're all thinking I'm going to destroy you," Damen said in an equally private voice. The smile was still there.

Damen thought he saw the corner of Laurent's mouth twitch, but he must have imagined it, for it was gone a moment later. Damen accepted his own sword from Aleksander, his eyes never leaving Laurent's.

"Do you think I'm going to destroy you?" Laurent asked Damen.

The smile faded. "I think you want to," he said. He wanted to bite back the words he could feel coming, but he was already in too deep. "I think maybe you already have."

Laurent's lips parted in slight surprise at the words. Damen found himself distracted by the tiny bit of space between them, his imagination taking over, so that he didn't immediately notice that Laurent had raised his sword and was swinging it towards Damen with full force. If Damen hadn't been training since he was a small child, the blow would have been lethal. But Damen wielded a sword like an extension of himself, and so his own blade came up to meet Laurent's.

The clash of metal was the first note in the soundtrack of their elaborate dance, Prince and King facing each other as equals for the first time.

The surroundings faded from Damen's awareness, his world narrowing to blue eyes and silver steel. Had anything else ever mattered?

As expected, the danger of facing Laurent came from how cunning he was, how complex his maneuvers and plans were. Damen had never faced an opponent like this, even when he had fought Auguste. They were similar in the way that the midday sun and the full moon were similar; Auguste had been nothing but fire, and Laurent was all bright edges and cold, blazing light. Both were lethal and beautiful.

In a distant, removed way, Damen could hear the sounds of awe and enjoyment from the crowd watching them, as he had expected. He wished he could see Laurent as they did; a blur of gold and blue, elegant and graceful, taking an act of brute force and turning it into moving art.

 _Though_ , Damen admitted to himself with a small smile, _there is something to be said about witnessing it from such an intimate distance._

In his moment of distraction, Laurent executed a complicated twist of his body, spinning in the opposite direction that Damen had expected. With a flick of his wrist, Laurent sent just the tip of his sword razing down Damen's bare arm, drawing first blood. The scratch wasn't deep, but it would probably scar. Another mark Laurent had claimed on his body. Another reminder of all that lay between them.

"Come on, Damen. _Fight_ me," Laurent said, his eyes gleaming. "I know this isn't the way you fought Auguste."

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Laurent," Damen said, holding Laurent's sword still for just a moment with his own. Laurent made a frustrated sound low in his throat and slid his sword down and away, disengaging them with the sweet singing of steel on steel. The swords were only apart for a moment, and then Laurent was stepping back in.

Laurent's attacks increased in speed and complexity as time passed. Damen recognized that this meant more to Laurent, that he needed it. He needed Damen to give him everything. Clenching his jaw, Damen obliged. If this was what he could give Laurent, if this was what would rebuild their shattered world....he owed Laurent this.

By the time they paused for the second time, both of them were panting. It was rare to go so long in a simple spar, but this was so much more than that, and they were surprisingly even-matched. Even so, it was becoming apparent that, despite Laurent's devious mind and quick footwork, Damen had the advantage, in both strength and skill. The outcome of this was inevitable.

The effort required for Laurent to block the blunt force of Damen's attacks meant that he had less will to focus on keeping his emotions off his face. Damen watched, through the flash of blades, as Laurent let everything bleed out of him. Anger and pain mixed with other emotions that were harder to identify. Damen felt a pressure in his chest that had nothing to do with his physical strain.

Laurent was tired. Damen could see it, could see Laurent beginning to make small mistakes. If this had been war, if Damen had met him as he would have in another life as an enemy, those mistakes would have cost Laurent his life. Damen let them pass, ignoring the opportunities as he slowly pushed Laurent back.

Finally, after what could have been minutes or hours or lifetimes, Laurent committed the most fatal error a smaller opponent could make; he allowed Damen to capture Laurent's blade with his own and, sliding down, Damen locked their hilts together. Laurent shook under the stress of meeting Damen's greater strength and height full on. It was only a matter of time before he gave way.

They were incredibly close, staring at each other over the cross of bright steel between them. Laurent's jaw was set in a hard line, his eyes blazing, his golden hair sweat-darkened and tangled at his neck. Damen could hear the labor of his lungs, could feel the strain of his lithe muscles.

" _Finish it_ , Damen," Laurent hissed, forcing the words past his heaving breath. "You've beaten me, so end it."

Suddenly, Damen was overcome with exertion and emotion. He stood, close as a lover, and met Laurent's gaze and held it. With purpose and meaning, he said one word.

"No."

Then he released his muscles, pulling back out of the tangle of swords. He relished the sound his sword made against Laurent's as they disengaged. Deliberately, his eyes never leaving Laurent, he threw his sword to the side, then fell to his knees in front of Laurent. Part of him recognized that his men were watching their king kneel to a foreign prince, an enemy prince, and that it would be seen as weakness, as surrender. He would deal with that later. Right now, only one person mattered.

Laurent's eyes were wide and dark, his chest heaving beneath his tight laces. His sword hung to his side, the point pointed towards the ground, shock rendering him immobile. Whatever he had expected, it hadn't been this.

Low enough that only Laurent would hear him, Damen spoke. "I took your brother from you. I will live with that for the rest of my days. If you want it, my life is yours. I give it to you freely. Take it. Kill me now, if that is what you desire. I will not stop you."

His heart was beating against his ribs, a bird thrashing inside its cage. He bared his neck, recognizing that he risked not just his life but his entire kingdom on this wager, on the thought, the _hope_ , that he knew Laurent. It was entirely possible he was wrong and that everything was lost.

Laurent stood, still as stone, after Damen's pronouncement. Then he took two measured steps closer to Damen, staring down at him. Damen didn't lower his gaze. Slowly, tenderly, Laurent raised his sword towards Damen's throat. Damen swallowed hard as the very tip of the sword came to rest on the gold of Damen's collar. Dragging the point across the soft metal, Laurent carefully drew a shallow scratch into the collar, before lowering his sword and tossing it to the side. Damen closed his eyes briefly, then looked back up at Laurent.

Laurent's expression was unreadable, some deep and unfathomable emotion drawing his face into angles Damen had never seen on him. He crouched down and traced the scratch he had just created with his fingertips, then let his hand graze Damen's jaw, light as the wings of a moth. Damen shivered at the sensation, somehow feeling like it was more intimate than any touch he had ever received.

Then, Laurent smiled at him, a complicated and beautiful thing, and he stood, holding out his hand to Damen. "As much as I like seeing you on your knees, the rumors in this camp are going to be inescapable tomorrow, and I don't particularly feel like hearing their unimaginative gossip any more than I need to. Get up."

Damen grasped his forearm, letting Laurent haul him to his feet. They stood like that for a moment, and then Damen asked, "Why?"

Laurent considered him for a moment before his gaze dropped to the slave collar around Damen's neck. "My collar wouldn't look nearly as good on you if you no longer had an intact throat for it to encircle. Plus, it would have been a lot of work to slice through the gold. I was tired." The corner of his mouth turned up just a little, and then he was releasing Damen's arm and slipping off through the crowd. Damen was left in a daze, watching him disappear.

Looking around him, Damen's gaze caught on Nikandros, standing at the edge of the now-dispersing circle. Nikandros stared back at him, his face hard and his jaw set, before he turned his back on his king and strode away, leaving Damen standing alone in the sun.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys I am SO SORRY it has taken me so much longer than normal to update. There are many things contributing to it, but mostly you can all blame Kelly for making me too absurdly happy to do anything productive with my life. This chapter is also a little shorter than normal, but I had to save the next section for later; it's too fun and has to stand on its own. 
> 
> I also want you all to know that this is where things start getting fun, although I am having the most frustrating writing block of my life (how is it possible to be unable to write smut. how) and so I really really hope inspiration strikes soon. 
> 
> As always, thanks to Mari and Kelly for being the best betas ever. And thanks to you all for reading. As always, please let me know what you thought in a comment if you'd like!

Damen had returned to his tent with the intent of reconciling troops and supplies. He needed to figure out how he was going to get three thousand men who had been declared enemies three days ago to work together without killing each other. He also grudgingly admitted to himself that he was going to have to deal with the consequences of kneeling to Laurent earlier; it was not the ideal image to present to an army that had only recently learned that their King wasn't dead.

And right now, Damen wasn't thinking about any of that.

He was lying on his back on his pallet, one arm thrown lazily above his head. He was watching the afternoon light that played off the ceiling of his tent, but his mind was on replay, returning over and over again to the brush of Laurent's fingers over his jaw, to the rightness of holding Laurent close and not letting go. It had been the longest Laurent had allowed Damen to touch him without retribution.

Damen closed his eyes, feeling the full weight of the collar at his neck. It no longer felt like a burden. It felt, suddenly, like an embrace.

"It would seem, from that idiotic grin on your face, that you are either incredibly oblivious to the damage you did this morning, or you just don't care. I can't decide which is worse."

Damen sighed, opening his eyes to see Nikandros standing over him, arms crossed and eyes flat with annoyance. He hadn't even heard the rustle of the tent flap from Nikandros' entrance. Raising himself onto his elbows, he grumbled, "What exactly is the point of having guards if they don't keep people out?"

"I am not _people_ , Damianos," Nikandros hissed. "If you would take that empty head of yours out of the clouds for a moment, you would realize just how foolish that ridiculous display was. Why, in the name of all that is good in this world, would you kneel to him? In _public_?"

Damen, after closing his eyes briefly once more, gathered himself and rolled to his feet to face Nikandros. "It had to be done, Nikandros. I'm not sorry. It was the only way."

Nikandros pressed the fingertips of one hand to his temple, as if attempting to rub away a headache. "Are you really going to stand there and tell me that finding your way into his bed is worth throwing away everything you've worked for? Everything your father worked for?"

"Don't," Damen said "Don't use my father against me, Nikandros. You know I would do anything for Akielos."

Nikandros looked at him long and hard. "Anything?" Damen nodded sharply. Nikandros continued in a softer, pointed voice. "Would you walk away from him, Damen? If it was a choice between Akielos and him, would you be able to turn away from him and never look back?"

Damen swallowed around the sharp shard of pain that had lodged itself in his throat. He was silent for just a moment too long.

"That's what I thought," Nikandros said, the lines hard around his eyes.

"That's not a choice I have to make," Damen said forcefully, finding his voice. "Laurent will not stand in the way of my throne. In the way of Akielos."

Nikandros shook his head, suddenly looking tired. "Will you never learn, Damen? I warned you once before that your trust would lead to disaster. Will you not listen to me now?"

"Laurent is not Jokaste, Nikandros."

"A tiger is not a shark, and yet they will bite you much the same," Nikandros replied. He sighed. "I don't want to see you hurt again, Damianos. I want to see you ascend the throne that is your birthright. Why are you making it so difficult?"

"It does not have to be difficult, Nik," Damen said, clasping Nikandros' shoulder. "Please, just help me gain the trust of the army and the generals, and I'll take care of the rest. Trust me."

Nikandros raised his eyebrow. "Fine. Fine," he said, his arms lifting in surrender. "But you don't get to complain about my methods. I can't stop you from chasing him, I can't stop you from fucking him, but you will do what I tell you when it comes to how to win over the army. Both of you."

Damen couldn't help the small smile that spread across his lips. "If you think you can tell Laurent what to do, you haven't spent enough time with him. He'll be four steps ahead of you as you try to figure out how he managed it."

Nikandros glowered. "We'll see."

Nikandros turned to leave, walking to the exit of the tent. Lifting the flap, he hesitated, then turned back to Damen, his face serious again.

"It's your head or your heart, Damen. You only have the luxury of keeping one of them intact. Be sure you know what you're doing when the time comes to make your choice."

*****

Nikandros had informed him, still clearly annoyed, that he would be entertaining that evening. When Damen had asked if Nikandros had convinced Laurent to attend, Nikandros had clenched his jaw and said shortly, "He'll be there." Damen wished he could have born witness to that conversation.

Damen had to control the little flip of excitement that he felt when he thought of seeing Laurent again. He didn't know how Laurent would act toward him now, but it seemed like they had crossed into something new after their sword fight. He wasn't so stupid to think that Laurent had forgiven him, but Damen couldn't help himself from thinking of a night filled with warm, golden light and blue eyes, the man beside him knowing exactly who he was.

This time there wouldn't be swords involved. Hopefully.

When Damen stepped into the command tent, he saw that the sides had been raised, creating a pavilion open to the rest of camp, allowing the dais to be clearly seen from all around. However, instead of the single throne he had seen that morning, there were now two thrones, side by side. The message was clear.

Damen took his place on the throne on the right, settling himself in as the men of the camp began to gather. Damen saw the face of Makedon in the crowd, watching him carefully. He would have to be careful from here on out--another demonstration of weakness like this morning would be enough to lose the loyalty of men like Makedon.

A bright figure caught Damen's eye. It struck him how much he was drawn to notice Laurent in a crowd. And yet he couldn't tear his eyes away as Laurent approached the dais, dressed impeccably in tight-laced blue garments, a simple gold circlet woven around his head. Damen, in his customary chiton and red cloak fastened at his shoulder, suddenly felt like the barbarian Laurent had always considered him to be in comparison.

Damen's eyes were not the only ones fastened on the striking figure that Laurent presented, but he was the only one whose gaze was returned. Laurent walked gracefully to the dais, his eyes never leaving Damen's face, and then sat on the throne to Damen's left, throwing one leg out straight and dangling his right wrist over the arm. Damen noticed, absurdly, that their fingers were only a few inches apart, before tearing his thoughts away to look back out at the crowd.

He noticed with pleasure that Laurent's company of men had joined the crowd. He recognized Jord's face in the crowd, along with the rest of the men he had spent many days with. He nodded to them, noting the distrustful looks on many of the faces. He realized that this was their first look at the man who had gone from slave to enemy king in the span of one night. Only Jord returned his nod, his expression torn and hesitant.

He glanced back at Laurent, who was watching him. "Did you expect them to accept this in a day?" Laurent murmured, so that only Damen would hear him. "Not only was their Prince's bed slave an Akielon, he was the Akielon King. I imagine they don't like to think of me submitting to you. It must kill them to imagine me letting you fuck me into the mattress."

Damen flushed, his mind straying uncontrollably to the image. Laurent's eyes glittered with mirth.

Damen forced himself to breathe normally, then replied in the same low voice Laurent had used. "I can't imagine that you would ever submit to anyone, much less me," he said. "Even if I were the one to...I am under no illusion that you wouldn't be the one in control the entire time."

The look in Laurent's eyes had changed, though Damen couldn't discern what it was. Their gazes held for a moment, then Laurent broke away to look out over the crowd. "I brought a gift, at Nikandros' request," Laurent said, raising his hand to beckon to someone in the crowd. "I was surprised he was able to talk to me at all without strangling me. It was clear he wanted to."

"He'll come around....eventually," Damen said, watching a man approach the dais. "What's this?"

Laurent didn't respond, instead raising his voice to be heard by the crowd. "In honor of the alliance that has brought our two countries together against the men who would steal our thrones, I would like to make an offering of equality to King Damianos. While he wears my gold, the implication does not allow us to stand on equal footing. Tonight, witnessed by honorable men of both Akielos and Vere, the collar and cuffs will be removed."

Damen looked at Laurent, his surprise echoing in the murmur that had spread through the crowd. The man who had come up to the dais was a blacksmith, tools at the ready to remove the gold.

In a voice just for Damen, Laurent said, "You came to my palace in chains, but you were never made for them. From the very beginning, your eyes told me that you would find your way back. A slave by name, but a king by right. You were always born to rule. You are no longer a slave, Damianos, whether you keep my gold or not. I know my word doesn't mean anything to these people. I know you are already free. But I willingly give you your freedom. That, at least, means something to me."

Damen sat, frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. It was true, it wouldn't have mattered at all if Laurent had freed him or not. The moment he had walked into the Akielon camp, his bonds had been broken and he had taken up his mantle as King. Laurent no longer had ownership over Damen.

And yet, sitting there in front of his army and his most trusted commanders, Damen thought that maybe there was more than one kind of ownership.

Laurent waved at him, indicating that he should stand. Damen did, not looking away from Laurent. He again had the surreal experience of feeling like he was merely a spectator in his own body, a foreigner trespassing in a dream. 

Numbly, Damen stood still, his head tilted to allow the blacksmith to access the collar. Laurent watched with cool indifference as the collar was removed. Damen felt a weight lift from his shoulders when it was gone, the cool night air caressing skin that had not been uncovered since before he was captured. He wasn't sure why he had to swallow around a lump in his throat.

The blacksmith turned to his right wrist next, carefully removing the cuff. Damen glanced at the band of lighter skin that laid underneath it. He flexed his wrist, feeling as if it belonged to someone else. The blacksmith moved to his left wrist.

"Wait."

The word was out before he was even conscious that he had been the one to speak it. He returned his eyes to Laurent.

"My body has known the weight of gold. If we are to truly be equals, it seems only fitting that yours does too." Laurent stared at him, his body carefully still. Damen turned to the blacksmith. "Leave the left cuff. The right will go to him."

"You want me to wear the cuff of a man I enslaved?" Laurent said, quietly, controlled.

"I want you to wear the cuff of a man you freed," Damen said, equally quiet. The blacksmith looked down, the only witness to this exchange.

Laurent was still for a long moment. Only the months of constant company gave away his tension to Damen. Then he stood, loosening the laces at his right wrist before coming to a stop facing Damen, locking his gaze onto him. His eyes never lowering, he held his wrist out to the blacksmith, who, after a moment of hesitation, attached the cuff to Laurent's smaller wrist, adjusting it to fit. Damen watched Laurent's jaw work slightly before Laurent turned to face the crowd.

"Your King and I wear the same gold, now. Akielos and Vere will celebrate tonight as equals, and tomorrow we begin our campaign of justice against those who would see us overthrown."

A cheer rose up from the crowd, and Damen could see that his actions this morning were forgotten, the image of him kneeling to the Veretian Prince replaced with the sight of seeing the same Prince cuffed in gold. It wasn't acceptance, not yet, but Laurent had ensured that they were well on their way.

Damen and Laurent sat back on their twin thrones, their cuffed wrists glinting inches away from each other. For a long moment, they were silent. Then:

"I still think you looked better with the collar. Unfortunately, Nikandros made it quite clear what he would do to me if I made you keep it. I suppose it'll just have to be a fond memory."

Damen couldn't help the smile that tilted the corner of his mouth. It was going to be an interesting evening.

 


End file.
